


Don't Shy From the Light

by gemini_melia



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, Car Sex, F/M, Infidelity, Pregnant Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9231167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemini_melia/pseuds/gemini_melia
Summary: Kim Wexler has worked hard to leave her past behind. With a successful private practice, a supportive husband, and a baby on the way, she’s never been happier. Or so she thought, until she was forced to cross paths with someone she never thought she’d have to see again: Saul Goodman.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desert_rose31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desert_rose31/gifts).



> Title inspired by the song [Don't Shy From the Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpWO_GtpWEw) by Neulore.

If you had given her a million years and endless sources of inspiration and imagination, Kim Wexler could never have conceived of the bizarre hell on earth that was the Offices of Saul Goodman & Associates. The sounds of the waiting room grated on her nerves like nothing else in the world. First there was the miserable receptionist who flicked the pages of her _Travel_ magazine with more force than was strictly necessary. Then there was the sullen, spotty-faced teenaged boy who wouldn’t stop scuffing his dirty sneakers across the cheap carpet. And finally there was the godawful music—a patriotic monstrosity that Kim was sure was being pumped straight out of the fiery depths.

She squirmed in the cheap vinyl chair. She’d only been waiting ten minutes, but it might as well have been an hour for how slowly time seemed to move. Her back ached and every movement reminded Kim that these days her ass was threatening to escape her skirt—regardless of how emphatic the saleswoman had been when she promised Kim that maternity clothing was designed to stretch.

The sound of her phone chirping distracted Kim from her body’s mutiny and the hellish office, and she pulled it out of her purse to see a text from Ryan. The relief she felt at the sight of her husband’s name was immediately replaced by vague annoyance at the text that accompanied it: _Moving student study circle drinks to our place tonight. You okay with guests?_

Kim had met Ryan Butler at a colleague’s holiday party four years ago, where he’d charmed her by not condescending to know more about her job than she did, which was apparently a rarity among the men of Albuquerque. Ryan was bookish and listened to her when she spoke and asked intelligent follow-up questions. He taught English literature to grad students at UNM and was one of the few people Kim knew who spent as much time as she did poring over old documents when she should be sleeping. There weren’t fireworks in their relationship, per se, but Kim had had her fair share of fireworks, and would take a steady light over that any day.

Now, four years after meeting, they had been married for six months, and— pregnancy aside—life was settling into a comfortable routine. Student study circle drinks at their place, Kim mused. Whenever she showed her face at her husband’s weekly happy hour with his students at a bar on Central Ave, she always felt out of place. She usually was stuck fielding questions about her job—some tedious, asked by various students with an air of polite indifference. Kim didn’t mind those so much as she did the questions dripping with condescension from a select few assholes who fancied themselves lawyers because they’d taken a couple legal studies courses and knew their Constitution. It was bad enough being undermined by arrogant colleagues, let alone a bunch of drunk twenty-something nerds.

Before she could tap out a response, Kim's attention was drawn to the opening office door. Every head in the room snapped up at the sight of it, like it was the answer to their prayers. Instead, though, all they saw was a middle aged man dressed, Kim thought, rather conspicuously in a pair of dark sunglasses and a strange black hat. A young man followed closely on his heels, shoulders hunched, wearing a hoodie that was three sizes too big and in a shade of green that made Kim’s eyes hurt. Neither paid the crowd any mind as they stalked out of the office without a word or a glance around them.

Kim was still processing the sudden sight when there was a sharp shriek of feedback and the receptionist’s voice blared on the microphone. “He’s ready for you, Ms. Wexler.” As she stood and straightened her coat, Kim wondered vaguely why the woman used a microphone at all in such a small space, but she realized that over the sound of the music, it was the only way she could be heard.

* * *

Entering the office of Saul Goodman, Kim knew exactly what to expect. Or so she told herself. She’d seen the commercials, of course—you’d have to be in a coma to miss those commercials—and quite frankly, she just knew who she was dealing with. The office may say Saul Goodman, but Kim knew Jimmy McGill.

That wasn't to say that this little trip had been her idea. No, if Kim had had her way, she never would have taken the opportunity to drive to this deserted strip mall and pass through those dingy doors. Instead, the opportunity had been given to her, by none other than Howard Hamlin. Though the man hadn't been her boss in years, he somehow managed to always get what he wanted out of her, at least when it came to Jimmy.

As the door shut behind her, Kim was relieved by the silence that followed. Secluded away from the tinny music and miserable faces of waiting clients, she had a brief moment to gather her bearings. The office was warmer than the waiting room, and more welcoming if she were honest with herself—if still miserably tacky.

Jimmy sat center stage at a large desk, flanked, Kim noted with an internal sigh, by faux Greek marble columns. He always did have a flare for the dramatic, she thought. Kim could barely even think of him as Saul Goodman, no matter how many times she’d heard him bellow the name in his late night commercials. No, the man in front of her was Jimmy McGill, even if he was decidedly more rough around the edges, more careworn and creased, than the last time she’d seen him.

“Kim Wexler!” he crowed, voice bursting from his mouth like a t-shirt out of a cannon. “Or should I say, _Mrs. Ryan Butler_? How’s the new house treating you? I’ve always loved Corrales.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk, eyes averted as he talked a mile a minute and Kim fought hard against rolling her eyes at the sight. Classic Jimmy McGill—all big steamrolling plans to cow her, but in the end he couldn’t even look her in the eye.

Howard may have had her pegged—Jimmy was her weakness. But she was his, too.

“It’s still Wexler. I kept my last name,” she told him shortly, ignoring the rest of his questions and stepping closer to stand in front of the desk. “More than I can say for you.” The words could have cut sharp; it was Kim’s intent. But as she leaned forward and got a closer look at the man before her, her voice turned soft and she couldn’t help the indulgent tug of a small smirk at her lips.

Five years of hustling as the Albuquerque law community’s red headed stepchild hadn’t been nice to Jimmy. He’d gained weight beneath his garish suit and his dyed hair was thinning. Kim should be repulsed, and part of her was. This man didn’t exist in her comfortable life of marriage and mortgage and soon-to-be motherhood—and he never would. Saul Goodman was like a broken puzzle piece that had been jammed too hard into place, and was left in even worse shape than when he’d started out.

But the part of Kim that was repulsed was overruled by her own curiosity. A curiosity that saw Jimmy hiding beneath the wear and tear and the ill-fitting disguise.

As she leaned forward and let herself smile down at Jimmy McGill, she felt a little thrill run up her spine as he finally met her eye and smiled back, and all the years of silence between them began to melt away.

“What can I say?” he said, leaning back in his chair and put his hands behind his head like a king. “I’m a fucking butterfly.”

“Well, good to know your ego’s still firmly in place,” Kim said dryly, rolling her eyes. She stepped back, moving to sit in the chair before him, when two things happened at once: her back twinged and she felt a fluttery jolt in her abdomen.

A gasp escaped her lips and she pressed a hand to her stomach, but she couldn’t feel a thing through the layers of her coat and blazer. As she swiftly moved to untie the belt of her trench coat, she could hear Jimmy moving behind her.

“Hey, you okay? You gonna be sick?”

His voice trailed off as she opened her coat and pressed her hand against her white dress shirt. But the movement had stopped before she could even properly feel it for the first time. No matter where she placed her hand now, all she felt was her still distended belly.

With a blink, Kim stood up straight, remembering where she was and who she was with.

“You’re…”

Kim wrapped her coat back around her, fighting down an unbidden blush that threatened to creep up her neck to the roots of her hair. Across from her, Jimmy just stared, a mix of bewilderment and anger warring on his face.

“Pregnant...is the word you’re looking for,” Kim supplied crisply after the silence had gone on for too long.

When Jimmy finally looked up from staring at her stomach, his eyes were gleaming with fury. “Jesus, did that asshole knock you up? Is that why you married him?”

Kim should be the furious one in this equation. Hell, she should have turned around and left, but instead she stood rooted to the spot because there he was. It had taken less than five minutes, and there was Jimmy, stepping out from behind that brash, gaudy mask—all to defend her goddamned _honor_. Suddenly, Kim was ten years younger, fresh from law school and just climbing her way out of the HHM mailroom. Spending her evenings with Jimmy at her shoulder, spouting bad lawyer jokes and encouragement at her in equal measure. Fighting everyone who stood in her way, just like he’d always done.

The sound of laughter bubbling out of her throat startled Kim, but once it started she couldn’t stop it. She sat down in the chair across from Jimmy’s desk and took a breath, but try as she might, she couldn’t help the wheezing laugh as she thought about how ridiculous the whole situation was. How had it come to this? How was she Kim Wexler, Esq—successful sole practitioner, wife, and almost first-time mother at age 40—having her honor defended by her long-estranged best friend Jimmy McGill turned two-bit, bus bench hack of a lawyer Saul Goodman, who was likely the least honorable man in Albuquerque, if not the entire state of New Mexico?

“Jimmy…” she said, as her laughter ran its course. “No. No, of course not.” Kim was left with a strange feeling in her gut that she couldn’t blame on the baby. It was that feeling you got when you’d missed a step, or when the elevator took off too quickly, but your guts didn’t settle, and instead everything just hung, churning in space, waiting—but for what?

“Look, if you’re just going to come in here and laugh at me, you can tell Hamlin where to shove it,” Jimmy grumbled.

At the mention of Howard, Kim straightened up, wiped swiftly at her streaked makeup, and turned her attention back to the matter at hand—the whole reason she was there to begin with. Despite the fact that she hadn't worked at Hamlin, Hamlin, & McGill for years, Howard Hamlin had called in one last favor from her—one that Kim admitted, she did owe the man. So now there they were, working a case together, more for the convenience of shared client history and knowledge than anything else. Kim wasn't stupid enough to think he'd picked her as his first choice. Rather, she assumed he'd hit a wall when it came to parlaying with Saul Goodman. Now that Chuck McGill was gone, Kim was Howard's only chance at getting anything he needed from the one remaining McGill brother.

“I assume you got my request, then?” she asked Jimmy, all business. 

“Yeah, yours, and about a truckload from the offices of HHM,” Jimmy said, mouth turning down in disgust and brow crinkling. “Please don’t tell me you’re back working for that jag-off again.”

“If you dug around enough to know I’m married and living in a new house in Corrales, then I’m sure you know I don’t work for Howard,” Kim snapped.

“Fine. You’re _consulting_ with him,” Jimmy sighed and tossed up his hands in air quotes. “Sure sounds like you’re doing his dirty work, if you ask me.”

Kim suppressed a sigh of irritation. All floaty feelings had fled and she was back on solid ground, frustrated with Jimmy McGill—what a familiar sensation that was. “I _didn’t_ ask you. But I can go if you’d like. I’m sure you’d prefer Howard to come poking around here himself. He’d love what you’ve done with the place.” One thing Howard had overlooked in this strategic little move of his, was the fact that—despite her once-close relationship with Jimmy—they'd learned the hard way long ago that, when it came to actual work, they  _just didn't work_.

Kim made a move to stand just as Jimmy leaned forward, reaching a hand out before curling it into a fist against the top of his desk. Kim paused and simply watched him.

“I don’t have what you’re looking for, Kim,” Jimmy told her quietly, and she let her eyes track him as he stood up from his desk. “I got rid of Chuck’s files after the funeral. You can ask Francesca out there—we had a nice little bonfire.”

Kim crossed her arms over her chest and peered closely at the man in front of her, at the stubborn set of his jaw, the deep lines in his brow, long since permanently marked with age and stress. Why had she let Howard convince her to come here? What had he thought she would get out of him that no one else could?

She was itching for a cigarette. She’d quit over a year ago, her resolution to herself and to Ryan before their wedding, but something about being around Jimmy McGill brought up all of her old habits and unhealthy cravings.

Kim stood and smoothed her skirt before holding out her hand to Jimmy. “Thank you for your help,” she said, feelings once more off balance and wishing she knew how to set things back on an even keel. She tried to let her thoughts drift back to work, to telling Howard he would have to work this case without Chuck McGill’s old client records.

“Hold on a sec, there, Kim,” Jimmy said, ignoring her hand. There was a roughness to his voice Kim knew was an act. It was the voice he used in his commercials, somehow gruff and oily at the same time. And there was that smirk, too. She was talking to Saul, now. “I’ve just had a thought—a little memory jog, if you will. I think I might have the files you’re looking for. In an old storage unit of Chuck’s I haven’t looked at in years.”

Kim quirked an eyebrow as she watched the man work her.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner?” he wheedled, hands gesticulating in front of him like a magician. “Just dinner, I promise. And then we can swing by my unit and see where those files got to.”

He was unbelievable, Kim thought. She opened her mouth to tell him so when her phone buzzed insistently in her purse. When she reached down to see who it was, she remembered that she had ignored Ryan’s previous text. Student circle drinks at their house…

“I have dinner plans already,” she told him flatly, eyes hardening, even as her resolve wavered on a knife's edge. “Why don’t you just mail them to my office if you find them?”

“Ah, sure, of course.” Saul Goodman knew when he was being dismissed, but he took it in stride with another easy smile. This time he did reach out a hand and shook Kim’s firmly. “A pleasure as always, Kim. Send the husband my regards.”

“Bye, Jimmy,” she said, before turning away, relieved that she'd held her own. Her stomach gave another flutter, but she couldn’t tell in that moment if it was the baby or her own unease. She looked back at him over her shoulder, once more unsure of the choice that she'd made. But Jimmy seemed to have disappeared entirely with her rejection, leaving Saul Goodman firmly in place, like he’d never left.

* * *

When Kim arrived home, it was to extra cars in the driveway and the muffled sounds of voices out back on the patio. Her heels echoed on the tile floor as she made her way through the foyer and into the kitchen. Kim loved the house—it was spacious and airy with a view of the Sandia foothills, and they’d gotten a deal on it because Kim had been good friends with the realtor’s roommate at UNM. But there was so much tile, Kim realized now, and the sound of her footsteps reverberating in her ears felt deafening.

The sound of a sliding door opening pulled Kim from her thoughts and she looked up to see Ryan coming inside from the patio, beer in hand and a sweet, easy smile on his face. It was a lovely face, she told herself, all dark hair, with a few days’ worth of scruff, and kind pale eyes. She’d always found Ryan handsome, from the moment he’d sidled up to her at that Christmas party, clad in a blue sweater vest, grin sheepish and eyes downcast as he fumbled with a second drink he’d brought over to her in offering. He’d carried himself in a way that made him look smaller than he was, and only after they’d spoken for a half hour or so did he seem to relax, to let himself take up more space, as his confidence built. Now, years later, in their home, Ryan took up more space, but, Kim noticed, it often came in the form of large gatherings of other people to surround him.

She smiled at him and accepted a peck to her cheek, letting her eyes linger outside on the quiet conversation on their patio, and on the backpacks and bags sat in a neat row by the door. It should please her to have such a group of well-behaved, intelligent, if sometimes pretentious, young people in her husband’s circle of proteges and peers—far better than the boisterous boy’s club of her own peer groups. But in that moment something about the quiet and the order set Kim on edge, like she was waiting for something to come and tear it all down. And in that moment, she couldn't say whether she feared that possibility or dreamed of it.

“We’re about to fire up the grill,” Ryan was saying, and wrapped one arm around her waist, while the other moved to rest over her stomach. “You want me to throw on an extra turkey burger?”

Kim blinked, once more pulling herself out of her unsettling thoughts. "What?"

"Burgers, babe?" Ryan repeated, catching her eye and looking at her closely, a look of mild concern washing over his face. "When's the last time you ate?"

Kim ignored the second question in favor of the first. “Nuh uh,” she said with a grimace. “I’ve officially moved into a no meat zone.”

“No more burgers?”

Kim shook her head vigorously. Even the thought of eating a burger made her stomach lurch.

Ryan pouted and pulled her closer. “I guess the doctor was right…”

Through the sliding glass door Kim could see Ryan’s students sitting around their picnic table, beers in hand, and deep in conversation, and she mentally pulled her thoughts far away from the uneasy precipice they'd been lingering on.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Kim said, keen to change the subject. “We should get some more rugs.”

Ryan’s expression shifted to one of confusion. “Rugs?”

“Yeah, you know...to cover some of this tile. It’s so cold...and hard.” Kim let her voice trail off at Ryan’s blank look.

“Oh, right—of course!” he said, realization dawning on his face. “The baby could fall.”

“Exactly. Babyproofing. Gotta be prepared.” Kim blinked, feeling once more unbalanced and wondering why babyproofing hadn’t _actually_ crossed her mind. Hell, they should have thought about that before buying a house with so much fucking tile.

Ryan pressed a kiss to her temple. “Let’s go tomorrow, okay? I know a great furniture shop in Santa Fe that does some amazing custom work.”

Kim smiled at him. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

As Ryan moved away toward the sliding door and his students, he flashed a smile at her over his shoulder, before turning and stepping outside.

Instead of immediately following him, Kim moved down the hall to their bedroom, where she sat down at the foot of the bed to remove her heels. When they had moved into the house, they’d decided they should get all new bedroom furniture, as both of theirs had seen better days. At the time, Kim had liked the soothing shades of taupe, but now the room made her feel lifeless and drab. She stood up and flexed her feet, sore and beginning to swell after a full day in heels. She moved over to the chair on her side of the bed, the one relic of her old apartment—a crushed velvet arm chair in a bright ocean blue—and she felt more at ease, felt the tension of the day begin to drain from her muscles.

At the sound of her phone buzzing, Kim’s stomach fluttered again, and she sat up straight. Like filaments drawn to a magnet, all her thoughts focused and stilled; she knew that text would only be from one person.

When she pulled out her phone, she was faced with a text message from a number she didn’t recognize that read,  _Don’t make me eat this porterhouse for two all by myself..._ and it was followed by a photo of a steak that, pregnancy-induced meat aversion aside, Kim couldn’t help but think looked damned delicious.

* * *

Kim begged off from student study circle drinks by telling Ryan she forgot she’d planned to meet with a potential client for drinks that evening. She told herself the lie wasn’t a big deal because it wasn’t that far from the truth.

When she arrived at the restaurant, Jimmy was sitting in a secluded booth, sipping whiskey and halfway through his porterhouse for two.

“Wasn’t sure if you'd show,” he said with a leer, and pushed the steak across the table toward her as she sat down.

She wrinkled her nose. Despite the look of the steak, the smell was enough to put her off entirely. She cursed the betrayal of her senses and ordered a seltzer with lime from the passing waiter.

“I’m just here for the files, Jimmy,” she told him, but she couldn’t keep her voice as stern as she intended. Even the mere sight of Jimmy was enough to throw her off balance. In the lighting of the restaurant, she saw that he still cleaned up nicely when he tried, and garish suits aside, Kim knew when he was trying to impress her. She pushed aside the warmth that rose in her chest at the thought by suggesting they look at the dessert menu. She’d just get something small, they’d chat, and then they’d get the files. She’d be home before nine, she told herself.

“Dessert before dinner? You’re gonna make one hell of a mother,” Jimmy teased her.

“I’m pregnant, I can do what I want,” Kim quipped back with a small grin.

As Kim dug into a chocolate molten lava cake, they chatted with surprising ease and she told Jimmy about the house in Corrales.

“Do you have horses?” Jimmy asked suddenly.

Kim snorted and tossed him a skeptical look before taking another bite of cake. She did remember their conversation all those years ago about moving to Corrales, buying a bunch of land where they could have horses. Kim hadn’t ridden in a decade—even when they’d talked about it, it had been years since she’d properly gone riding. She tried to picture herself on a horse now, but the image was hazy, and wouldn’t solidify in her mind.

“What?” Jimmy said. “You always used to want horses.”

“I think I always wanted _you_ to get horses,” Kim told him.

“What the hell was I gonna do with horses?”

Kim laughed. She was surprised at the easy flow of conversation and Jimmy’s company after so long apart. When he smiled, the years seemed to fade from his face, the deep lines around his eyes grew lighter, and his eyes glittered like they always had before.

Across the dining room, Kim’s eyes were drawn to to the door of the entrance opening, and a man entering. He was older, in his late 60s Kim thought, tall with graying blond hair slicked back against his forehead and a suit that looked casual, but which Kim knew was clearly more expensive than anything she’d ever afford.

She felt another flutter in her gut, and for a moment she remembered that she’d never told Ryan about feeling the baby kick for the first time. She pushed the thought down and instead reached across the table toward Jimmy’s hand, where he’d been idly fingering his pinky ring.

When she brushed his fingers with hers, he looked up, questioning. “What do you say we...try to make a little cash while we’re here?” she asked, tilting her head toward the man, who’d strode up to stand by the bar. 

Jimmy slowly turned his head, enough to spot the mark, but not enough to draw attention their way. “Wh..you’re serious?” he asked, eyes clear as he read her face closely. When she just smirked, he gave her a cocky grin. “I mean, you’re talking to the right guy—didn’t think you’d be down for that anymore, but how can I say no to such initiative?”

“For old time’s sake,” she told him. Kim knew this was a bad idea. But the way Jimmy's eyes lit up, the intimacy of their conspiring together, warmed Kim from the inside out, and all thoughts of tile and rug shopping and babyproofing fled her mind.

“Well, what’s our play? It’s not like we came prepared.”

“Since when do you need to prepare?” Kim asked, voice pitching low, relishing the thrill that ran up her spine. Across from her, Jimmy’s eyes darkened and his smile faltered, if only for a glimpse of a moment.

Kim leaned toward him and whispered her plan in his ear. His huff of laughter as she laid out the details was warm against her neck.

* * *

It was less than 30 minutes later that Kim strode out of the restaurant, purse five-hundred dollars heavier. Yet she felt as light as air, lighter than her body had let her feel since she'd peed on a stick over five months ago, and her life had taken one more turn in the right direction.

The play had been simple. Years ago, she and Jimmy had dubbed it the Wealthy Good Samaritan. While it was a relatively straightforward play, it needed a light touch—one that Kim could provide. Kim should have felt appalled at the idea of using her pregnancy and the sympathy of a stranger to make money, and a part of her did. But that part was buried now, under the course of adrenaline through her veins and Jimmy's laughter in her ear.

He had played the loudmouthed Creep—if anything, a role he'd grown into over the years—who tried to take advantage of the Poor, Defenseless Woman. In this case, the mark had to be an older man, old-fashioned and chivalrous, but not violent. They wanted him to help Kim, but not beat the shit out of Jimmy. The pregnancy added to the effect, and upon finding out that the Creep had stolen her wallet, the Good Samaritan had been more than generous in helping her out, even after she had pretended to call the police.

"I can't believe you actually fell off your chair," she was saying to Jimmy now, as they peeled out of the parking lot and into the night. 

"I can't believe you slapped me!"

"Hey, it distracted everyone enough for them to miss you swiping my wallet."

 Jimmy chuckled low in his throat. The sound sent a shiver down Kim's spine that made her blood sing. She sat back and closed her eyes, letting herself just feel the rush.

With her eyes closed, just hearing Jimmy’s excited voice recount the evening's events, Kim could pretend it was the two of them again, that they were anywhere—any _time—_ else, that they were just  _them_. Kim didn’t know how the two of them could be sitting here together again, after things had fallen apart so spectacularly, but she couldn't bring herself to stop, to do anything but keep going. Before she could think too hard about the decision, she grabbed Jimmy’s right hand off the steering wheel.

“What…?” Jimmy started, looking over to her.

“Just keep driving,” she muttered. Kim wiggled in the leather seat until she could pull the hem of her skirt up past her thighs with one hand.

“Whoa, um…” Before Jimmy could sputter anything else Kim was tugging his hand to her spread legs.

“Jesus, Kim…”

“Stop talking.” She took his first two fingers and guided them across the silky fabric of her panties, creating wide featherlight circles around her clit, just like she liked it. When Jimmy tried to take control, she slapped him in the shoulder with her other hand and he stilled, letting his hand go slightly limp in hers as she continued.

Next to her, Jimmy firmly gripped the wheel with his one free hand and glued his eyes to the road, barely allowing himself to blink.

When she dipped his hand beneath her panties and let his fingers graze her slit, she heard him release a harsh, jagged breath next to her.

The sound of Jimmy desperately holding onto his control sent a jolt of heat straight to her clit, and Kim tugged his hand closer to her, spreading her legs further, and steadying his palm on her mound so she could burrow his fingers between her lips, where they slid in easily against her slickness.

As she coated his fingers between her legs, she looked over to see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and his erection hard against his thigh. As she watched him resist the urge to squirm, Kim began moving his fingers again, this time with more pressure against the underside of her clit before rhythmically circling it. She let her left hand drift to her breasts, which ached beneath the confines of her bra. As she grazed her left nipple she couldn’t hold back a breathy sigh at the contact.

She ground Jimmy’s hand down against her clit once more, rubbing his calloused fingertips in even strokes as she squeezed her nipple. The pleasure/pain cleared her head enough to keep her from coming just as she neared the edge.

Outside, she saw that they were slowing, that Jimmy had reached across the wheel to flick the turn signal with his one free hand. As Jimmy waited for traffic to ease to take a left turn, Kim tugged at his hand once more, circling his fingers firmly and letting herself buck her hips against them. As Jimmy took the turn, she pressed his fingers down hard against her clit and Kim saw stars as she came.

* * *

When Jimmy parked the car, they were stopped in front of a long row of orange storage units.

As Kim adjusted her skirt in the seat, she tamped down the alarm blaring in her head, telling her that she was on dangerous grounds. She had lied to and cheated on her husband and now, sitting here next to Jimmy, she didn’t feel an ounce of regret. And that startled her more than anything.

Next to her, Kim noticed that Jimmy was just sitting there, strangely silent, staring down at his hand blankly, still slick from being buried between her legs. She pulled a tissue from her bag and held it out to him. Jimmy blinked, like he was coming out of a dream, and looked up at Kim before leaning in to kiss her. But before he could reach her mouth, Kim turned her head away. Her body was still singing from her orgasm but instead of contented bliss, she felt unnerved and exposed.

“Let’s just find those files,” she muttered and got out of the car.

Jimmy followed her out, and Kim could barely stand the brief flash of disappointment that crossed his face. But by the time he’d caught up with her, he’d hidden it behind a smirk and had added a spring to his step that Kim knew he didn’t feel.

“Like I said before,” Jimmy was saying as they reached his unit and he unlocked the door. “I can’t promise anything. I haven’t looked through this stuff in over a year.”

When the door swung open and Jimmy flipped on the overhead light, Kim saw that the unit was practically empty.

“What the hell is this, Jimmy?” Kim said, stepping inside, to stand in the middle of the unit, where all there was was an old desk and chair and a handful of boxes, all of which Kim was almost certain had once been squeezed into Jimmy’s old nail salon office.

Jimmy stepped inside after her, where he flopped down into the chair and swiveled around, looking at the ceiling.

Kim’s hands were shaking, so she balled them into fists before moving to the boxes, which she tore open. As she began to quickly look through files—nothing but old Sandpiper Crossing paperwork—she realized that she’d been such a fool to follow Jimmy McGill, or Saul Goodman, or whoever this man was, anywhere.

“Was this your plan all along?” Kim asked coldly, stepping away from the boxes to loom over Jimmy, who was staring up at her smugly. “Lie to me and lure me out here?”

“Lure you?” Jimmy said, incredulous. “Jesus Christ, I asked you out to dinner! If anyone's doing the luring, it's you.”

“You knew damn well what you were doing,” Kim said, voice cutting like ice as she leaned over him. “I want to know why.”

Jimmy glared up at her defiantly and she glared right back. After a few moments, Jimmy’s glare faltered and he looked away. “I just wanted to see you,” he mumbled.

Kim blinked down at Jimmy, suddenly frozen to the spot. She had spent the entire day feeling off balance, like she no longer fit into her own damned life, and it was all because Jimmy McGill _missed her_.

The anger she felt at this man—this man who had spent years _constantly_ turning her life upside down with every stray impulse—settled into a simmer at the base of her skull. She knew she should simply turn around and walk out the door. She should call a cab and go home. She should go home to her husband and her house, and her life that she had built with her own two hands.

But she didn’t do any of that.

Instead she stepped forward and took Jimmy’s garish tie in her hand, tugging at it until he sat forward, straightened the the chair. He opened his mouth to speak but at the sight of her glare, he stayed quiet, and she took her time folding the tie end over end until she had a neat bundle of silk between her fingers. She pressed it lightly against Jimmy’s lips and he looked up at her with wide brown eyes as he slowly opened his mouth and let her slip the bundled tie past his lips and the sharp edge of his teeth. Kim ran her thumb over his soft, dry lips and swept her fingertips across his jaw, where she could feel the beginnings of stubble.

Jimmy McGill may have spent the day toying with her, but Kim had toyed right back. To what end, she hadn't been sure—until now. Now, when she had Jimmy alone, when Saul Goodman had disappeared from sight, she felt alive _._ She felt present and unfettered for the first time in years. For the first time since she had walked out the door of Wexler & McGill and out of Jimmy's life for the last time.

She was suddenly hit with a memory she'd been trying to remember earlier that night. The feel of the wind in her hair, the bright blue of the clear sky on the horizon. The power and strength beneath her that she held in her hands. _Horseback riding in the desert._

She reached down between them to where Jimmy’s cock was straining against the fabric of his gaudy pinstriped trousers, where it surely had been waiting eagerly since the moment she’d had him touch her in the car. She palmed him for a moment, and the high, thready whine that escaped his throat sent a shiver down her spine, and straight to her clit, which throbbed, still sensitive from earlier.

She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, slapping Jimmy’s eager hands away when he reached up to shove his boxers down himself. Instead, she knelt and slowly peeled them away from his skin, letting him squirm as she ran her fingers down his thighs, across his bony knees, and over his calves, pushing the fabric down to pool at his ankles.

She stood up, ignoring her protesting knees and back, and admired the sight before her. Jimmy McGill, pants around his ankles, hard cock standing flush and insistent against his dress shirt, and bright silk tie stuffed into his mouth. He sat there, staring up at her, eager and curious, but patient.

She reached beneath her skirt and tugged her panties down, let them fall down her thighs, to the floor, where she neatly stepped out of them. When she stepped forward, Jimmy’s cock twitched and she couldn’t hold back the small huff of a laugh as she thought, _l_ _ike riding a horse._  

In front of her, Jimmy began mumbling something unintelligible, but immediately fell silent when she straddled him in the chair and slowly sank herself down onto him. Kim placed her hands on Jimmy’s shoulders, leveraging herself up and finding a rhythm that sent sparks up and down her spine. She wanted to stay this way, with Jimmy beneath her, letting her do what she wanted with him, letting her take what he had always so freely given.

But she needed more.

She thought she could leave that night unscathed, protected, having taken what she wanted, and walked away. But she still felt fractured and unbalanced from their time together, and only now did she realize why.

She'd spent all this time trying to do this alone, when she didn't have to—when she simply couldn't stand to.

She reached down and tugged the tie from Jimmy's mouth, loosened it, and let it fall in a sodden heap to the floor.

“Touch me,” she whispered, letting her forehead fall to meet his, to let their breath mingle between them.

Jimmy didn’t need to be told twice. He slid his hands up her body desperately, pulling at the fabric to get beneath it. The feel of his hands across her swollen abdomen and heavy breasts was almost too much, an electric current across her skin. She let out a guttural moan she didn’t know she could make, gasping at the familiarity of his hands on her. Those hands knew her body almost as well as she did, and she didn't realize until that very instant what price she had paid to lose it.

As she lifted her head, Jimmy took the chance to kiss her, and she let him, returning with her own frantic swipes of her tongue and teeth against his mouth. Kissing Jimmy was like running headlong over a cliff, and his hands clutched around her were the only thing grounding her.

Though Kim had been with Jimmy more times than she could count, they had never been together like this. This was not lovemaking or even what Kim would call fucking. This was desperate and painful and furious. As she wrapped her arms around Jimmy’s neck, moaning into his shoulder as he clung to her, thrusting up into her as he came like a man gasping for air, she realized that what she felt was grief.

* * *

The pre-dawn light of the sun cresting over the Sandias cast eery long shadows across the city. Kim shivered as she hunched against the side of Jimmy’s Cadillac. They’d driven back to the restaurant, to where Kim had left her car, which now sat alone in the empty parking lot at the outskirts of town.

Next to her Jimmy lit a cigarette, his breath ghosting out in a puff of smoke and condensation. He offered it to Kim, and with just a moment’s hesitation she accepted it from him, and took a single long drag, relishing the feeling of the smoke in her lungs, in the slow seep of the nicotine into her blood, before exhaling and dropping the cigarette to the asphalt, where she stomped it out beneath her heel.

“Those things’ll kill you,” she said before Jimmy could protest.

“Occupational hazard,” was all he said in return. 

Kim wanted to stand there forever with Jimmy, to watch the sun rise and set a million times over—together. But even with all that time, she knew it would never be enough to fill the empty spaces between them, to say everything she wanted to say to him, to be satiated by everything he could give her. It simply would never be enough.

“I have to go,” Kim said after a few long moments of silence. Better to go now before she began to hate herself more than she already did, before she began to hate him—again.

She wasn’t sure what she was going home to anymore. The sudden shattering of Kim’s illusions, built up so easily in Jimmy’s near-permanent absence from her life after so long, left her grasping for a foothold she wasn’t sure she’d ever find again. It was funny, she thought, but with Jimmy standing here before her, she found it difficult to picture her husband’s face, to hear his voice in her head as clearly as she usually could. As with all things Jimmy McGill did, when he entered a room all else paled next to his blinding light.

She smiled sadly at Jimmy, and leaned in to kiss him once more, tender but firm. It was a farewell that she didn’t want to forget, a promise of something she could not name.

As she got into her car and turned the key, she laid a protective hand over her belly. She was surprised at the firm kick she received in return. She wasn’t sure what she was going home to anymore, but she knew that somewhere in it, a few months down the road, there would be a new blinding light in her life, one that she would never turn her back on, one that she would face when it came, with all the love that she had.

 


End file.
